Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray (25 page)

“Got it.” I reached into Josh’s box of tricks and picked up the tiny GPS device, noticing it had a magnet on the bottom. “Should I sneak into the valet area and put this on Fischer’s car?”

Nick dipped his head in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”

First things first. I hurried up the concrete ramp and through the doors that led from the parking garage into the casino’s small array of shops. Luckily for me, there was a women’s restroom nearby. I ducked inside and quickly did my business.

While I was washing my hands, I received a text from Josh.
Checked into hotel and went to room.

I texted him back.
Keep an eye on the elevators. He may come back down.

I returned to the parking garage and glanced around. The valet parking area was on the first floor where cars could be retrieved quickly for guests. I headed toward the area, keeping my head down as if looking for something in my purse to avoid eye contact with any of the young men parking the cars.

Fischer’s Infiniti sat at the end of the row. I ducked between his car and the Mercedes parked next to it, lying down on my back and shining the flashlight app on my cell phone underneath the car to find the best spot to place the GPS. I tucked the device between two pieces of metal where it would be less likely to be dislodged should he drive the vehicle through a car wash or accidentally hit a curb.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Busted! I looked up to find a young man in a valet uniform standing at the front fender, looking down at me.

“Um … I dropped my lipstick,” I said. “I thought it rolled under this car, but I can’t seem to find it.” Pretty quick thinking for a girl who’d drunk two wine coolers, huh?

The young man got down on his hands and knees and looked under the car. “I don’t see anything.”

“Silly me,” I said, whipping the lipstick out from my purse. “Here it is!”

Before he could think too much of my odd behavior, I stood, thanked him for his help, and scurried back to Josh’s car on the other side of the garage. This time, I took a seat up front.

Nick and I sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to a country-western station on the radio and watching the lighted, scrolling sign in front of the casino.

SHREVEPORT’S BEST BUFFET.

LOOSE SLOTS—
98%
PAYBACK.

$5
BLACKJACK.

Too bad we couldn’t go inside and sample the buffet, maybe play a little Texas hold ’em.

“You think we’ll learn anything that’ll help the case?” I asked.

Nick glanced my way. “You never know.”

“I hope we don’t end up working on a Friday night for nothing.”

He glanced my way. “Is this so bad?”

Honestly? It wasn’t. But I couldn’t very well admit to Nick that I enjoyed his company, could I? I chose to ignore his question. “You gamble much?”

“Occasionally,” he said. “Been to a few bachelor parties in Vegas. Always end up losing my shirt.”

Lost his shirt, huh? I wouldn’t mind him losing his shirt right now. I’d seen what was underneath his shirt up close and personal when I’d first met him in Mexico. He’d been wearing nothing but a tiger-striped Speedo and a sexy grin. The guy had pecs like Rambo. Yummy.

“What about you?” Nick asked.

“What about me what?” Visions of Nick’s naked pecs had mentally derailed me.

“Do you gamble?”

“Just slots and poker,” I said. Alicia had once tried to teach me how to play craps, but I couldn’t quite grasp the concepts. Of course, the five free drinks I’d downed made it hard for me to grasp much of anything, including the drinks. I’d ended up down fifty bucks and with amaretto-sour-soaked shoes. Since then I’d stuck mostly with the one-armed bandits. The machines were no-brainers and if I dropped my drink while seated on a stool, the only thing that would get soaked was the carpet.

Nick and I sat in companionable silence for a while, the windows down, listening to the soft rush of cars driving up and down the ramps of the garage, the occasional chatter of casino patrons making their way through the garage, and the chirp of a nearby cricket. At least I hoped it was a cricket and not the first in a plague of locusts about to descend on us.

Nick reached across the gearshift and palmed my knee, wrapping his fingers around my kneecap and squeezing.

“What are you doing?” Not that I minded.
At all.

“I forgot my stress ball. I need to work off my tension.”

His touch might have relieved his tension but it only made mine worse.

He squeezed once more. “Your knee’s awful hard. What else you got?”

Oh, I could offer him some soft things to squeeze. But that would be wrong, right? I pushed his hand away. “Just deal with your stress the way the rest of us do.”

“How’s that?”

“Develop an ulcer.”

A half hour later, Nick and I were sitting in the front of Josh’s car, waiting for word from our coworker, when Fischer’s Infiniti drove by right in front of us.

“That’s Fischer!” I cried.

Nick cranked up the engine, waited for the exit gate to close behind Fisher’s car, then eased out. “Call Josh. Let him know what’s going on.”

I dialed Josh’s number and told him we were following Fischer.

“That can’t be him,” Josh insisted. “There’s only one elevator bank that goes from the lobby to the rooms. I’ve been watching it ever since he went up and he hasn’t come back down.”

“Maybe he came down the stairs,” I said. “I don’t know. All I know is his car just drove by and Nick and I are going to follow him.”

“What should I do?”

“Get out here!” I cried. “Now!”

Nick eased out of the garage, proceeding cautiously. Fischer’s car was stopped at the end of the exit drive, waiting for the traffic signal to turn green. Nick pulled to the curb to wait. Josh stepped out of the casino, spotted us, and ran down the sidewalk toward us. He jumped in the backseat just as the traffic signal turned green and Fischer made a left turn onto the street. Josh barely had time to close his door before Nick floored the gas pedal and blew down the drive. The light ahead turned yellow.

“Hurry!” I cried. We’d tailed the guy for four hours. We sure as hell didn’t want to lose him now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Where’s James Bond When You Need Him?

Nick turned left onto the street, tires squealing, just as the traffic signal cycled back to red once more. Luckily for us, there were no cops in sight.

Fischer took another left and pulled onto the bridge that crossed the muddy Red River. Once over the bridge, he took a right turn and continued on a couple of blocks before pulling into another parking garage, this one servicing Sam’s Town Casino.

Nick pulled into the garage, tugging his white cowboy hat even lower on his head. Given that it was a Friday night, the garage was nearly full. Fischer had to circle up several levels before finding a spot. Josh and I ducked down and Nick punched the gas as we drove past Fischer’s parked car. Nick pulled into an open spot near the end of the same row and quickly cut the engine.

In the backseat, Josh raised his head and peeked over the windowsill.

“Can you see anything?” Nick asked.

Josh glanced back at us, his brow furrowed. “A man just got out of Fischer’s car,” he said, “but it’s not Fischer.”

“What?” Nick leaned into the backseat, craning his head to get a look. I couldn’t see anything but the pickup parked next to us. I grabbed the minibinoculars, stepped out of the car, and held them to my eyes as I peeped over the bed of the truck.

The guy walking away from Fischer’s car was the same height with the same trim build as the pastor, but rather than Fischer’s thinning white-blond hair, this guy had thick, dark hair and wore plastic-framed glasses. He was dressed in jeans, casual loafers, and a blue and white striped polo shirt.

What the heck?

I was confused until the man went to slide his keys into his pocket. The light in the parking garage glinted off a chunky gold bracelet on his right wrist. His left arm bore what appeared to be the same flashy Cartier watch he’d worn the day of our meeting. It didn’t have a built-in camera like the spy watch Josh was wearing, but I bet it had cost twenty times more, at least.

I slid back into the car. “That’s him!” I hissed. “He’s wearing a toupee and glasses to disguise himself.”

The toupee actually looked pretty good. I wondered where he’d bought it. Maybe the place would have a strawberry-blond beehive wig for Lu.

Josh watched through the back window of the car. “He’s heading for the sky bridge.”

“Go after him,” Nick ordered.

Josh climbed out the car and hurried across the parking lot after Fischer. Nick and I watched as Fischer made his way down the glass-enclosed walkway that spanned the side street, leading from the garage to the casino. Josh followed forty feet behind, cleverly glomming on to a group of young guys to make it appear as if he were with them.

Ten minutes later, Nick received a text from Josh.
Fischer is playing slots. What should I do?

Nick rolled his eyes. “What a newb.”
Try the machines nearby,
Nick suggested.
Take some photos.

A few minutes later, Josh texted again.
Free drinks!

Josh seemed surprised by the casino’s purported generosity to its players. What he didn’t seem to realize was that the casino was playing him, plying him with drinks so he’d be looser with his money.

Shortly thereafter, we received another text from our coworker.
He’s playing blackjack now.

Join the table,
Nick replied.

Josh texted back.
Don’t know how to play.

Nick groaned. “We’ve sent a boy to do a man’s job.” He sent another text to Josh.
You try to get cards that add up to 21. Follow the others.

Nick and I sat for another half hour, waiting. The night had grown fully dark by then.

We sat silently side by side. I wondered if he was as acutely aware of me as I was of him. I noticed his smell, crisp deodorant soap and a hint of boot leather. I noticed the soft sound of his breathing, the rising and falling of his chest. I noticed the manly five o’clock shadow that had formed on his cheeks and jawline. God help me, I ached to touch it, to feel the roughness on my skin.

Guilt sliced through me. I was in a committed relationship with Brett. We’d agreed to date exclusively. It was wrong for me to have these feelings for Nick.

It was wrong, sure. But wasn’t it also natural? Nick was good-looking, well built, masculine. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to him?

But it was more than that, wasn’t it? Nick and I connected on a deeper level. We both had an inner rebel, an almost insatiable ambition, an innate drive to right wrongs. I’d have these same feelings for Nick even if he weren’t so physically attractive. The rock-hard pecs, the sexy grin, the whiskey-colored eyes … all of those things were really just a bonus, weren’t they?

Brett and I appeared well matched, too, but on a much more superficial level. The things we shared—a love of ethnic foods, a fondness for British television, a strong sexual attraction—those were the icing on the cake. But I began to fear that there wasn’t much cake underneath that icing. And I still wasn’t certain whether there was anything between Brett and Trish. He’d denied it, of course, but maybe he just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. Or maybe he’d flat out lied to me.

I glanced over at Nick again.

He glanced back, removing his cowboy hat from his head and fanning himself with it. “What’s the matter?”

Sheez. Could the guy read my mind? “Nothing.”

“Liar.” He placed the hat on the dashboard. “You’re upset.”

I frowned at him. “How would you know?”

“You chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re upset.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, I noticed the inside of my cheek felt raw.

I said nothing. He continued to eye me, but said nothing, too. He must’ve sensed that the thing upsetting me was a subject he shouldn’t bring up. The guy really could read my mind.

“This is boring,” I said. “Let’s go inside and have some fun.”

“What the hell,” Nick said, pocketing Josh’s keys. As we climbed out of the car, he reached out and snatched the scraggly blond wig off my head, putting it on his own, pulling it down over his ears.

“How do I look?” he asked as we headed across the parking garage.

“Like you should be touring with Metallica.”

He held up his right hand and formed the devil’s horns with his fingers. “Rock ’n’ roll!”

We made a quick stop at the gift shop in the casino’s lobby. Nick selected a Saints baseball cap and tee for himself, while choosing a black tank top with
LADY LUCK
spelled out in gold sequins for me. From a display near the register he grabbed a purple sequined eye mask and a green and purple jester hat complete with jingly bells, no doubt items left over from the spring’s Mardi Gras festivities. Nick paid for the items with his credit card and we slipped into the nearby restrooms to change.

I emerged from the ladies’ room with my work top stuffed into my purse. Nick shoved his dress shirt into my purse, too. The thing bulged, the seams threatening to split.

Nick had put the ball cap on sideways over the snarled wig and slid his sunglasses back on. Though I barely recognized him, the ridiculous look hardly made him inconspicuous. In my mask with my hat jingling every time I took a step, I wasn’t exactly subtle, either. When I pointed this out to Nick, he said, “Ever hear of hiding in plain sight?”

We made our way down the colorfully carpeted hallway to the casino, the sounds and lights growing more vivid with each step. The burly guy working the entrance asked for my identification, ordering me to remove the mask so he could compare my face to the photo on my driver’s license. Getting carded was one of the hazards of being short.

Once I passed muster, Nick and I continued on into the smoky, noisy casino.

The place comprised three floors, with gaming tables in the center of each floor and slots around the perimeter. We spotted Josh and Fischer at a table and quickly turned tail and headed up to the next level.